


Don't hold it against me

by MyLadyDay



Series: Think of all the roads [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin AU, Assassin Bucky, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Student Steve, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLadyDay/pseuds/MyLadyDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The job started out just like any other, which all in itself should have been a source of concern for Bucky considering the line of business he was in. The real surprise had been the target. According to the base info, the guy was a strong gust of wind away from certain death."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't hold it against me

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first sort of meet-cute oneshot in what will hopefully be a series of meet-cutes. I use the 'cute' in meet-cute very loosely, tho XD

The job started out just like any other, which all in itself should have been a source of concern for Bucky considering the line of business he was in. That, however, was something he should leave to ponder on another day. This job, like all the others before it, started with an anonymous phone call to his burner phone. One would think only bonafide villains with no morals hired contract killers, but Bucky has come to find that most people who called were a nervous wreck, stuttering through their inquiries and answers to any question Bucky might ask. It got annoying really fast. The person calling for this one was no different, thus having this job start just like any other.

After a fairly short and awkward conversation (the type of which he was already used to even if he did find them annoying) with a man that did his very best to mask his voice, Bucky received an email to one of his highly secure addresses with the info on his target. Of course, he usually did his own research on both the target and the person hiring him, the former because the info provided was usually pretty scarce and the latter because he needed an insurance policy in case everything went tits up.

The real surprise had been the target. According to the base info, the guy was a strong gust of wind away from certain death. Surely, given some time and bad weather, he’d probably drop dead on his own, no intervention needed. Not to mention he was just an art student, which was definitely a first when it came to people Bucky was hired to kill so far. Bucky just shrugged as he read, ignoring the fact there was no photo attached considering the height and weight info alone was enough to assure him this job would be a low risk one, something he couldn’t say for a fair share of ones he’s accepted in the past.

The medical records in the attachment only served to confirm Bucky’s suspicion that the target did, in fact, almost die several times due to poor weather combined with pre-existing conditions. The list of those was pretty impressive.

He accepted the job without doing more than tracking both the call and email just to know who was hiring him for this frankly ridiculous assassination. Bucky was sure he could just light a cigar in the target’s vicinity and the guy would choke on the smoke, if his medical records were to be trusted. This was not even a tiny bit challenging, but business was slow for a couple of months now and his money was slowly running out. Sure, he still had plenty, but that wouldn’t last forever.

The thought of why someone would pay a shitload of money to have an art student killed, Bucky honestly didn’t know and, for once, he didn’t bother finding out. All he needed was the address and he was pretty much good to go. Considering it was mid-December, Bucky concluded he should probably move sooner rather than later and get the job done before the awful weather killed off his target before he managed to do it.

Which is how he’d found himself skulking through what would soon be a god damn snow storm in the middle of the night, looking for the address he had memorized before deleting the email that contained all the info. Lucky for him, he knew the city inside and out so domestic jobs were basically milk runs, even if he rather worked away from home. For safety purposes, of course.

Still, with this much snow, he was making slow progress through alleys and side streets to avoid people. Sure, there was pretty much no one out and about in this weather, save for his sorry ass, but he wasn’t dumb enough to risk anything. After all, he did look highly suspicious and, even in New York, people would notice him clad in assassin black while walking through all this snow. His outfit, while pretty inconspicuous looking, could still be suspicious and he wasn’t about to take that risk. After all, he knew better than that and stayed in the cover of darkness until he reached his goal.

The building was pretty… crappy, for lack of a better word. Bucky wasn’t exactly expecting much better, anyway, and at least he didn’t have to worry about advanced security. Or any security, really. He was already making plans for the rest of the night, most of which revolved around being warm and as far from the snow and wind as possible. The third floor window facing the fire escape was within sight and he only had to be in and out in a matter of minutes which was completely doable.

Honestly, it took him longer to climb the ancient looking fire escape that threatened to cave under his weight added to that of the snow that had fallen than he expected the actual job would take. This weather, the building’s general crappiness and the target’s even crappier health were bound to make all this easier for Bucky.

Still, he was a professional and he did his best to open the window silently, which was an accomplishment considering the damn thing was frozen shut. He was seriously hating snow at the moment, but got his ass into gear and used his army knife to break the ice between the window and the frame before sliding the blade in and shimmying the window open. It wasn’t exactly as soundless as he’d hoped, but the apartment remained dark and silent as he climbed in, letting him know that he remained undetected.

Now he stood in a tiny dark living room with a small kitchen along the far wall and couldn’t help but notice that it was hardly any warmer inside than it was out there in the snow. That was definitely alarming, thought Bucky couldn’t decide whether that meant his target wasn’t home or that he already froze to death.

Moving around without a sound, Bucky found a really tiny hall closet and a small bathroom before noticing the light shining weakly through the crack under the last door he found. This was his cue to be more careful, reaching for the knife at his side before he figured he should make it look like an unfortunate consequence of a harsh winter and faulty heating rather than murder, when a gruesome cough followed by incoherent mumbling disturbed his thoughts. Well, not dead yet, but it sounded like it was a close thing.

Despite that, Bucky was careful as he opened the door, completely ready to pounce at a moment’s notice in case there was danger on the other side. Instead of danger, though, what he found was a barely lit room with a bed, a dresser and two side tables. Kind of pathetic, if you ask him. It was just as cold as the rest of the apartment, which explained the enormous pile of blankets and a thick soft looking duvet on the bed. It wasn’t until another coughing fit sounded, however, that Bucky noticed the pile on the bed was actually a nest concealing an actual human being.

That threw him off for a moment, making him forget what he was supposed to be doing. The mass of softness shifted and Bucky panicked for a second as a mess of blond hair peeked out of the nest followed by a flushed face. This was the part where Bucky usually did his job before the target had time to scream. Keyword being ‘usually’ because the face staring at him was confused and completely pink, the huge blue eyes unnaturally hazy and unfocused. His nose was completely red, it was ridiculous.

It was kind of cute, which was confusing all in itself, the dazed face peeking out of a pile of blankets. Bucky wasn’t sure how to proceed, even if it should have been obvious because he is a goddamn professional.

It was a strange combination of the guy being adorable as fuck with his messy hair and huge eyes as the rest of him remained hidden in the nest and the fact that he was also very sick. Slowly, Bucky noticed some used tissues by the bed where the light from the small lamp didn’t reach, not to mention how the guy was basically coughing up his lungs between mumbling stuff Bucky couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Tentatively, Bucky approached the bed while the guy, Steven Rogers according to the email, kept staring at him like a deer. He was fairly sure the guy wasn’t actually seeing him, though, considering Bucky was a stranger in his bedroom in the middle of the night and there was a distinct lack of screaming that usually accompanied a situation like this. Not that Bucky wasn’t grateful for that, of course. Still, the guy was still alive and that spelled a change of plan for Bucky; his targets usually didn’t live this long, especially after seeing his face.

Instead of pulling out his knife and stabbing the guy, Bucky went closer until he could reach out and… do what exactly? Strangle him? That seemed to be out of the question, obviously. Instead, he took off his glove and pressed the palm of his hand to Steven’s forehead. For a moment, he was sure his hand was on fire because holy shit, the guy was running a downright hellish fever. Clearly, he wouldn’t need help with dying. What the hell was the dude even thinking, staying in an apartment with no heating when he was this sick?

What was more worrying, though, was the fact that Bucky wanted to do nothing more than jump out the window and find the nearest pharmacy to buy some Nyquil and whatever else people took when they were sick. Bucky’s fairly vast knowledge didn’t really cover how to cure the flu (or the plague, which seemed to be a possibility with this guy because he was burning up).

“Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll fix the radiator in the morning.”

The mumble came from beneath his hand and Bucky jumped back, looking around for this Sam person, relaxing only a fraction when he found no one in the room beside the two of them. It was unnerving how unprofessional he was being just because his target was cute and sick. A remote part of his brain also supplied that Steven was clearly a fighter as well, possibly with balls of steel if he willingly decided to brave through the flu in an apartment with no heat.

Bucky found it admirable. Also really reckless, but he could relate with that. Still, the target didn’t seem to be a target anymore as Bucky started working out a course of action that included taking care of the guy. Well, taking care in a different sense of the expression. More cuddly than stabby and all that.

It was highly unprofessional, of course, but Bucky wasn’t in the mood for a struggle with himself; his instincts demanded that he kept this person alive and he always trusted his instincts. This was a really unusual time for them to kick in, but he let that go and put the glove back onto his hand. He did his best to gently push Rogers back so he’d be lying down while Bucky looked through the apartment for flu medicine.

Of course, he didn’t find any. Somehow, he wasn’t even expecting to find anything so jumping out the window and finding a pharmacy was obviously a valid plan as of now. He peeked into the bedroom to check whether Rogers remained lying down, which he was, so Bucky entered the room to check what was up with the radiator. The first thing he should probably deal with was warming up the place and, remembering the only coherent thing Rogers had said, Bucky decided to check out which radiator was busted. He was betting on all of them since the entire apartment felt like a freezer.

And, naturally, he was right; neither the radiator in the bedroom nor the one in the living room were working. However, as far as he could tell, they weren’t actually broken so that was good. Fixing the problem was easy, mostly because he had the same issues when he was first discharged and living in an apartment not unlike this one with equal amounts of crappiness.

The bedroom radiator was sputtering and heating up in no time, though how long it would take to heat up the whole room, Bucky didn’t know. Considering he couldn’t do much about that, he repeated the process in the living room before leaving through the same window he used as an entrance. He was pretty sure there was a Walgreens just around the corner, luckily, so Bucky  hurried down the fire escape and through the snow.

Even with the drastic change of plans, Bucky still opted for remaining unnoticed and he figured it was a better idea to sneak in and steal what he needed rather than being seen. Stealing flu medicine would probably be the smallest and most ridiculous crime he’s ever committed, but this was already one of the weirdest nights of his life even with taking what he did for a living into account. Reluctantly, he might even admit that it was fun sneaking into the store and inside it until he had all the Nyquil and Tylenol he needed. Just to be safe, he picked out several different boxes of tea because people drank tea when they were sick, right? God, he hadn’t been sick in years, this was as far from his expertize as it could be.

Stealing all that stuff and escaping without anyone even knowing he was in the store was extremely easy. Knowing whether he had everything Rogers might need, however, was a completely different matter. There was nothing he could do now, though, save for going back and googling what he should do to keep someone alive. Putting it like that was kind of scary though, considering he had no idea how to save someone instead of killing them. After all, killing was easy and he was numb enough not to care anymore.

It was strange, suddenly caring about a life. Stranger still, he was actively doing something to help. Bucky stopped at the bottom of the fire escape, glancing up at the window he was planning on using as an entrance once again. Why did he suddenly care? This Rogers guy was literally no one to him. He had absolutely no obligation to help, even if he decided not to see this job through the way he was supposed to.

Maybe it was the fact that the guy upstairs was sick to the point of hallucinating and no one was by his side. Bucky could relate to that. After everything bad he’s done in his life, being completely alone was the only thing he had in common with a normal person. And he hated it. Being alone, that is.

He ignored that line of thought for the moment, wondering instead what in the world Rogers did to find himself the target of a professional like Bucky. His apartment was crap, he had pretty much nothing of value that Bucky could see and he was so tiny that a couple of blankets and a duvet could make him pretty much disappear altogether. And that was all without even remembering the guy’s misfortune when it came to health. Fuck sake, he was an art student. Why the hell would someone wanna kill an art student?

With that in mind, he made his way up the fire escape once again, this time completely sure about his decision. He was aware that it wasn’t his smartest decision ever, but it wasn’t the dumbest either so things weren’t so bad. The job didn’t have a deadline and he was grateful for that for now, knowing he would have to deal with that at some point too, whether or not Rogers recovered beforehand.

The window was once again easy to open, more so than before, but he made sure to close it properly after he entered the living room. There was more warmth this time around, proving that the radiators worked just fine now. It was still too cold, but the living room was definitely getting warmer. Without leaving any of his loot behind, Bucky snuck up to the bedroom again, carefully making his way inside in case Rogers was more coherent than he had been before.

Luckily (or not, really), the nest was exactly like Bucky had left it. The room was also warmer now, more so than the living room given that it was a bit smaller and heated up faster. Rogers was still mumbling away between coughs; Bucky couldn’t tell which was worse.

At this point, however, he was running low on ideas of what to do next. He knew how to remove bullets, clean out wounds and sew himself up if needed, but the flu was beyond him. But Bucky was nothing if not resourceful. Of course, this time that resourcefulness was limited to googling what he was supposed to do now. The instructions he found were all pretty straightforward.

Locating a thermometer to take Rogers’ temperature was the first on his list of to-do’s and Bucky estimated it would be the hardest thing on that list. He was quiet as he left the room again in search for everything he needed, deciding to take off his shoes and mopping up the mess of melted snow he tracked into the apartment. His coat was discarded in the process as well, knowing it would definitely be a while before he left the apartment and, even if Rogers got better suddenly, Bucky would be able to defend himself. The latter part of his thoughts was accompanied by a mental snort because Rogers was even less of a threat than he had initially been expecting.

Rifling through the bathroom medicine cabinet revealed that all those ailments on the medical history Bucky was given were in fact completely true. Not that there was much of a doubt, but still, it was almost amazing that a single person could have so many health problems and still be alive. The sight of an inhaler reminded Bucky that asthma was on that list as well, which could be problematic for him what with Rogers being incapacitated when it came to lucid thought at the moment. Still, he took the inhaler with him, along with the thermometer he found in there when he left the bathroom. At least Rogers did a good job with organizing all his medicine, making everything easy to find. As an afterthought, he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen as well.

So Bucky found himself back in the bedroom, staring down a pair of hazy blue eyes that barely peeked out of the nest. It was ridiculous. According to the info, the guy was in his mid-twenties yet Bucky could have sworn he was dealing with a five year old.

“Uh, hey, man?” Bucky called out awkwardly. God, what the hell was he doing? “You need to take your temperature?” he posed it as a question because the situation was really ridiculous and he had no idea what he was actually thinking when he decided to do this.

“No,” was the mumbled reply from the depth of the nest. “Take your own temperature, jerk.” He was struck with how raspy and weak the voice sounded, followed by several strained breaths.

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure whether the guy actually realized he was talking to a stranger who wasn’t even supposed to be in the apartment or if this was just his lovely personality shining through. Once again, the distinct lack of screaming made all the difference and allowed him to at least hope the latter was true this time.

“Listen, punk, I gotta see if you need to go to a hospital or something,” Bucky argued, trying to be the voice of reason even though he hoped a trip to the hospital was not necessary. “I will dig out of that nest if I have to.”

There was no movement or sound for a moment before the blankets shifted and a slender hand reached out making grabby motions until Bucky surrendered the thermometer before the hand disappeared back into the blankets again. He couldn’t help but feel more worry at the fact the skin that touched his for a brief moment was terrifyingly hot.

A muffled beep interrupted his worry before the same hand held out the thermometer for Bucky to take.

“You don’t scare me, Peggy, I don’t have to take orders from you!” Rogers rasped as he retracted his hand back into the safety of his nest. Fuckin’ ridiculous.

“Whatever you say, man.” Bucky rolled his eyes before checking what the thermometer had to say. He was no expert, but what he read off the now really hot thermometer was far above a normal temperature. Not that he needed much evidence to conclude that the guy was running a really high fever. According to the instructions Bucky found online, the next step was taking some Tylenol and drinking a lot of fluids. Chicken soup was also a recommendation.

That sounded deceptively easy, all things considered, but the guy just wasn’t cooperating with Bucky. He didn’t actually want to drag his skinny ass out from the warmth of the blankets and force him to take some medicine, but somehow he was sure he’d do it if needed.

“You’ve gotta take some medicine,” Bucky said with as much authority he could muster in the face of such ridiculousness.

“You wanna fight me?!” Rogers shouted, or rather, he wanted to, but couldn’t due to the raspiness of his voice. He sprang up, the blankets falling off his shoulders to reveal his upper body, bundled into an oversized hoodie. “I can kick your ass!”

Bucky couldn’t help but grin at that, after being startled for a brief moment.

“I’m sure you can, but you still gotta take this,” Bucky told him, offering what the package said was the recommended dose of Tylenol. He put all his faith in the instructions because he had no idea what he was doing, really.

Surprisingly enough, the pills were taken out of Bucky’s hand with no protest. Rogers managed to down the entire glass of water as well before he simply stared up at Bucky. Bucky stared back, kind of struck by the blue of those eyes even if they were cloudier than they were meant to be. This was all very weird already and Bucky couldn’t help it, he reached out, fingers touching the flushed skin on Rogers’ forehead for a moment before brushing back his hair.

The blue eyes staring at him closed at the touch, allowing Bucky to just observe for a moment until the reality of how weird it all was came to him. Somewhat reluctantly, Bucky pulled back and Rogers was staring at him again.

“You should to sleep.”

“You should sleep with me,” was the reply he got, followed by a goofy grin. Taken aback, Bucky stuttered for a moment, dodging the hand that tried to grasp his wrist. He pulled himself together quickly, taking a hold of that hand and leaning over Rogers as he pushed him into the bed.

“I should make soup,” he said, putting all the blankets back into place, noting how Rogers already closed his eyes, drifting off as soon as his head hit the pillow. The guy really was cute, it was unbelievable.

Bucky didn’t stop to stare some more, focusing instead on what to do to get soup. Ordering in seemed like the best idea because, while he may be resourceful, Bucky doubted that talent extended on making soup. He was okay with cooking in general, but soup was never his forte.

By the time he made himself look as inconspicuous as possible and the soup was delivered, Rogers was dead to the world, snoring loudly due to his stuffy nose. It was completely ridiculous, but Bucky left him alone, knowing sleep was probably a good idea. Actually, sleep was a good idea for the both of them probably, considering it was nearing dawn already. Instead of making Rogers eat soup, Bucky made sure to leave a fresh glass of water next to the bed along with the Tylenol, the asthma inhaler and some cough medicine he found in the bathroom.

He stole a blanket, one that had fallen off the bed once the room got warm enough, and made his way for the couch, hoping he’d actually fit on it. Right in the middle of contemplating how to fit on a fairly tiny couch, scratching on the window interrupted him, making him reach for his knife again. Ready to attack if needed, Bucky approached the window he himself used to get inside.

A tiny orange cat with blue eyes was not what he had been expecting to find in the pile of snow on the windowpane which made this more difficult for him. If it had been someone like himself, hired to kill the inhabitant of this apartment, he’d know what to do. The cat, however, baffled him. He noticed cat stuff around the apartment which wasn’t that hard, given the size of the apartment, but there was no way to know whether this was Rogers’ cat.

The cat that was meowing outside in the snow and looked so tiny and sad, he could barely take it. Apparently, Bucky was getting really soft. Putting away his knife, he figured there couldn’t be many cats knocking on this specific window before letting the little guy in. After making sure the window was properly closed, he plopped down on the couch, making himself as comfortable as possible on such a small couch.

There was barely time to contemplate what the fuck he was doing when the cat jumped next to him before climbing onto Bucky’s belly. Well, whatever, he was doing something good for a change and there was a cat napping on him, there was no reason to question his decisions. With the sound of coughing coming from the bedroom, Bucky dozed off, momentarily forgetting that he tended to sleep for far longer than was smart in his current situation.

Even so, he was a fairly light sleeper and the cat manage to wake him up just a few hours later, meowing at him from the kitchen floor where an empty bowl stood. Finding the cat food was simple with the cat itself guiding him to it before he slipped into the bedroom to see if his so called patient was still breathing.

Kind of surprisingly, he actually was, still sleeping soundly where Bucky had left him. It had been a few hours though and Bucky wanted to check whether there was an improvement to his condition, approaching the bed silently to press his hand gently to Rogers’ forehead. It was still scorching hot and Bucky found himself disappointed that there was no change.

With a cough, Rogers woke up, blinking at Bucky for a moment before smiling in a way that could have made Bucky’s knees week, had he been standing instead of kneeling beside the bed.

“Time for more medicine, punk,” Bucky told him, barely containing his own smile. He had reached the point where the impact of what he had done finally sunk in, as suddenly as he had decided to not kill Steven Rogers. It was definitely an alarming realization, one he hadn’t been expecting right in that moment, with Steven’s gaze heavy on his face. Blindly, he reached for the bottle of Tylenol, going through the motions in a slight rush, determined to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

He was compromised. The decision to not go through with this job was a conscious one, of course, but only now did he realized how rash it had been. Not just that, but purposefully making sure the guy lived was against everything he had done these last few years. Bucky wasn’t all that bothered with not killing the guy, but the part where he had to explain to his former target what the hell was going on is something he hadn’t thought about. What he had on his hands now was a fucking mess. He couldn’t even tell what the hell it was about this guy that made him stop and change his admittedly bad ways.

Once again derailing his train of thought, the cat walked into the room, cuddling past Bucky while Steven drank the water without protest this time. It jumped onto the bed, settling in a seemingly random stop and dozing off immediately, prompting Steven to lie back down and do the same. All Bucky could do was brush the hair from Steven’s face, ignoring the fact he probably shouldn’t be doing that, before returning to the living room and going back to sleep. He’s technically fucked anyway, why not get some sleep?

The next time he woke up, it was once again because of the cat meowing at him. Not from the kitchen floor this time, though. Instead, the orange kitty was settled comfortably against a skinny chest wrapped in a fluffy looking blanket. Steven was standing by the couch, looking far more lucid than he had last night, though his nose was still adorably red. He didn’t look mad per se, but he was looking at Bucky through narrowed eyes.

“There’s chicken soup in the kitchen?” Bucky said awkwardly, feeling incredibly judged under the weight of that gaze. What else could he say in this situation, anyway?

“You waiting for me to drop dead, aren’t you?” Steven asked, his voice steadier and it was clear there was no hallucinations this time, though Bucky could still hear just how sick the guy was.

“Didn’t have to stay here for that,” Bucky replied, gathering his wits slowly. Embarrassingly slowly, really. “You feeling better?”

Steven frowned with confusion, piercing eyes boring into Bucky as if he was searching for something.

“Still got a fever. You gonna kill me when I’m healthy or what?” he asked, his tone suggesting they were talking about something trivial and not literally life and death, his own specifically.  

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Bucky said with a sigh. “Do you expect someone to kill you on a regular basis or do I just look the type that would do it?”

“Well, the knife, gun and your overall serious assassin look are giving you away,” Steven said with a raised eyebrow, letting Bucky know he was asking stupid questions. “The manbun doesn’t fit in, though. Too cute.”

“You call all your potential assassins cute?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask because the guy wasn’t kicking him out or calling the police. Somehow, joking around with him wasn’t so weird after everything. “Guy could kill you for that alone.”

“You gonna kill me ‘cause of that or ‘cause someone paid you to?” Steven asked as he set his cat on the floor, successfully stopping the meowing.

“Didn’t get paid yet,” Bucky replied helpfully. “Besides, I said I ain’t gonna kill you. You should probably go back to bed.”

Frowning again, Steven looked around. “Did you fix my radiators?” He turned back to Bucky just in time to see the cat jump straight into Bucky’s lap, immediately settling into a fluffy ball, purring loudly enough to be heard all the way to where Steven was standing. Bucky immediately noticed the frown turn into a look of genuine surprise.

“I did.” Bucky answer the question, pretending he didn’t notice the surprise. “They weren’t really broke, though. You gonna go to bed or what? You’re still sick.”

“I can take care of myself, jerk!”

With a deadpan look on his face, the best he could achieve considering the circumstances, Bucky started at Steven.

“You were half dead with almost no medication in an apartment with no heating in the middle of winter.” This caused a slight blush, one that managed to break through the flush of fever that was still clinging to Steven’s face.

“I’m still alive,” Steven mumbled, showing slight embarrassment, a welcome change after the kind of stern look he was wearing before.

“Cause I gave you medicine twice, punk.” The statement earned him a glare, but it was softer this time, almost exasperated in an affectionate way which was odd. Bucky was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do now. Steven was awake and better, but he wasn’t calling the cops even though he knew what Bucky was there for.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

And there it was. The question Bucky didn’t even know he was dreading until it was out there between them. It was spoken softly, but Bucky wouldn’t go so far as to call it hesitant. Thinking about that was a good distraction from thinking what the answer to the question really is.

“I don’t know,” is what he settled on saying. Obviously, it was more complicated than that, but Bucky couldn’t really figure it out just yet. “You were cute,” he added with a smile.

Steven sighed, donning that exasperated look once again, though he couldn’t exactly conceal the amusement fully.

“I’m going back to bed,” he announced. “You can stay only because Tasha seems to like you. No assassiny business in my apartment and just so you know, I will really kick your ass if you don’t behave. Got it?”

Bucky was full on grinning now, happy that the night before happened the way it did and this bundle of sass was still breathing.

“If I behave, you gonna invite me to sleep with you again?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking as he remembered last night. Steven, to his credit, didn’t blush or sputter when he spoke.

“Heat up that soup and I’ll think about it.”

Bucky sat on the couch slightly stunned as Steven walked away, snapping Bucky out of his stupor only when he shouted from the bedroom.

“And make it two bowls of soup, jerk!”

 

 


End file.
